Wednesday's Child
by Scribblesinink
Summary: Twenty years in the future, Jake's past catches up with him.


**Author notes**: This story is part of jericho [dot] scribblesinink [dot] com/awesomejakeverse, the shared post-season 2 verse being written by Scribbler and Tanaqui. Thanks to Tanaqui for betaing.

**_Wednesday's Child_**

**_By Scribblesinink_**

Twenty years after the bombs that forever changed the face of America, the entire country was buzzing with preparations to honor the memories of those who had died in the attacks. Jericho planned to hold a sober commemoration, though the _thwack-thwack_ of hammers putting together a platform in Lincoln Park echoed after Heather as fervently as for any happier occasion when she made her way up the path to the Green house.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee from the kitchen greeted her, confirmation that Gail was expecting her. Heather had made a habit of dropping by the house after she'd stocked up on weekly groceries over at Dale's—now the flagship store of a statewide franchise—and it was a routine that both women had come to cherish.

_Now more so than ever_, Heather mused, as she shucked her summer jacket while Gail set milk and sugar on the table, apparently having forgotten that Heather liked her coffee black and unsweetened. Gail was in her late seventies and, lately, her memory failed her sometimes. Watching beneath her lashes as her mother-in-law puttered around the kitchen, Heather was glad that Eric and Mary had abandoned their apartment over Bailey's and moved into the big house. She and Jake would have asked Gail to stay with them at the ranch, but this was Gail's home, and she had her friends around her in town.

"And Mrs. Olsen, old gossip that she is, she—."

The shrill chime of the doorbell interrupted Gail mid-sentence. She glanced up, a small frown creasing her brow at the disturbance. "Be a dear, and go see what they want?"

"Of course." Heather pushed her chair back.

"And if it's someone wanting Johnston...."

Heather's heart skipped a beat as Gail fell silent without finishing her sentence. She was gazing off in the middle distance, a slightly puzzled expression on her face.

"Johnston's dead," Heather reminded her softly.

"I know that!" Gail gave a small shake of her shoulders and glared up at Heather. "I'm not feeble. I meant Eric, of course." She pulled herself up straighter. "If it's someone for Eric, tell them to go to City Hall."

Heather nodded. "I will." It was moments like this that made her frown, and Jake or Eric shoot worried looks at their mother. Yet there was very little they could do, as a discreet inquiry at the Med Center had confirmed.

She reached the door and pulled it open, prepared to tell whoever it was to take their business to City Hall. But the girl who hesitated on the doorstep wasn't familiar to Heather, and she looked nothing like a courier with a delivery, or an out-of-town official needing to speak with the mayor. She was young—maybe twenty years old, if that—with short-cropped, dark hair that accentuated her delicate features. Under her short, black skirt, she sported the pink striped leggings that seemed to be the height of fashion among kids this year. Lily had been begging them all summer to mail-order her a pair, even though she was far too young and Jake kept telling her they'd make her look like a bad mix of flamingo and zebra. To be honest, Heather thought, looking the visitor up and down, she had to agree. Or maybe, she chuckled silently, she was simply growing old.

"Can I help you?" She smiled at the girl; the town had grown so much in the past twenty years that she no longer knew everyone and maybe the girl belonged to one of the new families living near.

"I'm looking for...." The girl scuffed her feet nervously. Heather noticed she wore frayed tennis shoes. "Is... is Mr. Green home?"

For a heartbeat, Heather thought she meant Johnston, probably misdirected by Gail's earlier confusion. But this girl likely hadn't even been born when Johnston had died, and Heather mentally shook her head at herself. "You mean Eric? Eric's at—."

Before Heather could tell the girl where to find Eric, she shook her head and stuttered, "No... No, that's wrong. It's.... The name's Jake. I'm looking for Jake Green."

Her curiosity picking up another notch, Heather's smile turned apologetic. "I'm sorry, Jake's at the airfield." She paused a moment, wondering why the girl had come to the house in town. "Besides, he doesn't live here anymore."

"Oh." The girl looked a little crestfallen. "The airfield...?"

Heather took pity on her. "Maybe I can help you? I'm Heather, Jake's wife."

Eyes growing wide, the girl stared back at her. "Oh god...."

Heather frowned: why that would come as such a shock? For a long moment, she didn't think the girl was going to say anything more. Then the girl blinked, and took a deep breath, as if she'd come to a decision.

"I... um, I think I'm his daughter," she offered.

It was Heather's turn to gape. Jake had another daughter? Eyes narrowing, she scrutinized the girl again. She was on the tall side, but Heather didn't really see any other resemblance. Yet she knew that didn't mean much. Physically, JJ was Jake's spitting image, while Mikey looked much more like her, and Lily was a perfect mix of them both. And Jake had been gone from Jericho for a long time before the bombs; Heather doubted he'd been living like a monk all those years. She did some quick calculations in her head: if the girl was as old as she thought she was, the timeline would certainly match up.

"I—I'm sorry," the girl stammered, "I didn't mean to—." Heather realized she was close to tears. "This isn't.... I thought if I saw him...."

Heather swallowed and managed to find her voice again, though it sounded a little scratchy in her own ears as she asked gently, "What's your name?"

"Miranda." The girl looked relieved, but whether it was because Heather didn't chase her from the yard straight away or because this was a welcome change of subject, Heather couldn't tell. "Miranda Gomez."

"Well, Miranda—." Heather hesitated. Did she want to know? Did she really? Yes, she decided. Now that the proverbial cat was out of the bag, it would be better for everyone to know the truth as soon as possible. For Miranda, and for Jake. And for her as well: waiting to find out the truth or being left forever wondering would be far worse. "Maybe I should run you out to the airfield? So you can talk to Jake?"

o0o

Miranda clasped her backpack tightly in her lap, fiddling nervously with a strap, as Heather drove her out to Jericho's small airport. The first handful of miles passed in silence, before she haltingly explained how she'd been born in a FEMA camp, six months after the attacks. "My mom never wanted to talk about my dad."

Heather gave her a look sideways. "So what makes you think it's Jake?"

Miranda shrugged. "Mom died last month. I found some old photos among her things, and a note with an address." She rummaged around in her backpack for a moment before she pulled out a tattered slip of paper and showed it to Heather.

Heather's breath caught. The small glimpse she'd managed while steering the car into the road to the airfield was enough for her to recognize Jake's handwriting. So much for hoping the whole thing was a case of mistaken identity....

They found Jake in the small office tucked at the back of the hangar that housed Ant Aviation's planes. He was drawing up flight plans for the rest of the week, and he glanced up when they entered, smiling as he saw Heather. "Hey." The smile faded and Heather guessed he must have caught something in her expression. "Is something wrong with Mom?" He gave Miranda a curious glance, but there was no sign of recognition on his face.

_Well, of course not. _If the girl was Jake's daughter, Heather reckoned he was as unaware of her existence as she herself had been up until thirty minutes ago. "No, don't worry, Gail's fine." Though Gail had been disappointed that Heather had left again so soon.

The concerned frown smoothed from Jake's face. "Then—?" He turned his head to look at Miranda.

Heather nudged her forward. "This young woman says she's your daughter." She realized the statement had came out a little harsher than she'd intended. In fact, it had sounded almost accusing, and she told herself to stop being an idiot.

"What?" Jake's jaw dropped and he gaped at the girl as dumbly as Heather suspected she had herself when Miranda first dropped the news on her.

"I... I think I may be." Miranda was studying Jake's features intently, almost eagerly; despite her own mixed feelings, Heather's heart went out to the girl. To grow up and never know who your father was...? She couldn't imagine what that must be like. Miranda added, "My mother was Anna Gomez."

"Anna...?" Jake plopped down on the nearest chair as if his legs could no longer support him. He peered up at the girl, his eyes filled with sudden hope. "Anna made it? She survived the attacks?"

Miranda nodded. "Yeah. Mom always said she got lucky. She told me she was on her way from San Diego to Houston, and was on a bus somewhere in north Texas when the bombs went off."

Heather remained silent, but her mind was racing. San Diego and Houston had both been hit in the attacks. Anyone who had happened to be traveling between those two cities had been very lucky indeed.

"A funny kind of luck." Jake gave a harsh laugh. "I always wondered...." His voice trailed off, but he didn't need to finish for Heather to understand.

"Why did you never try and find out?" she asked softly. She couldn't remember Jake ever mentioning a woman named Anna, though it was clear whoever she was, she'd once been important to him. Heather wondered how many more surprises from his past Jake might spring on her. "Trish could've—."

Jake looked up at her, his gaze miserable. "I was too scared," he admitted. "Scared I'd find out she'd died. _How_ she might've died." He paused and drew a deep breath. "Last time I saw her was in Albuquerque, the morning of the attacks. She got on the bus to Houston, and I took the train to Denver. I've always asked myself if maybe I should've gone with her, like she wanted me to. At least to see her home safe...."

Heather nodded. She sensed there was more to the story. With a start, she thought, _If Jake had gone with this woman, he and I would've probably never met._ Strange, how life sometimes turned on a single moment, a snap decision.

Heather pushed the thought of never meeting Jake from her mind as she watched him turn back to the girl claiming to be his daughter. "I'm sorry. I'm not your father," he told her gently.

Despite herself, Heather breathed a silent sigh of relief at his words, but the relief soured as she saw Miranda's face crumple.

"How do you know? The note—." Miranda shoved the piece of paper with Jake's handwriting at him. "My mom had this!"

He gave the note a startled look, and then his face cleared. "I gave her that before we said goodbye. I knew she was expecting you, and I told her if she ever needed help...." He trailed off again, and Heather sensed old guilt in the way he shook his head.

"Oh...." Miranda looked so disappointed that Heather almost wished Jake _had_ been her father. "Do—do you know...?"

"Yes." Jake gave a nod. "I do. Your father's name was Freddy. He died before... the bombs went off." He paused for a few seconds before adding, so softly Heather could hardly make out the words, "He was... my friend."

Heather waited for Jake to continue, but he stayed silent. For a long minute, nobody spoke. Glancing at Miranda, Heather saw she was waiting for Jake to go on too, but it seemed he'd gotten lost in his memories. Heather lightly cleared her throat, the sound startling him from his introspection. He slowly raised his head to meet her gaze. She held it for a moment, deciphering the silent plea in his expression, and nodded slightly as she got what Jake was asking—she would not refuse him this. She turned to face Miranda. "Do you have a place to stay for the night?"

"Um, what?" Miranda blinked, apparently having been caught up in thoughts of her own. "No, not yet. I thought...." She gave a helpless shrug.

Heather dipped her head in understanding: Miranda been too impatient to finally meet the man she'd believed her father to bother with other things. "Well, why don't you stay over at the ranch tonight? With us? And Jake can tell you more about your father?"

Miranda's face lit up, and she turned toward Jake. "Would you...?"

Jake pushed to his feet. "Yes. I'm—."

Heather suppressed a giggle at the startled look on his face when Miranda flung herself in his arms, clinging tightly to him and muttering, "Thank you."

He gave Heather an embarrassed grin over the girl's head, and she smiled back at him. She had a sneaking suspicion that, while Miranda might not be related by blood, they'd still gained a kind of daughter that day.

**Disclaimer**: this story is based on the Junction Entertainment/Fixed Mark Productions/CBS Paramount Television series _Jericho_. It was written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from it nor was any infringement of copyright intended. Please do not redistribute elsewhere without the author's consent.


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